


The Life of Tom Riddle

by thewikipediamaster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7833250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewikipediamaster/pseuds/thewikipediamaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Marvolo Riddle grew up to be the most powerful Dark Wizard. But how did it all begin?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Voldemort: "There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!"  
Albus Dumbledore: "You are quite wrong. Indeed, your failure to understand that there are things much worse than death has always been your greatest weakness."  
\---  
A set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. He mounted the few steps leading to the front door and knocked once. After a moment or two, the door was opened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron.  
This younger Albus Dumbledore’s long hair and beard were auburn. Having reached their side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing.

“Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?”  
“Oh,” said the bewildered-looking girl, taking in Dumbledore’s eccentric appearance. “Um . . . just a mo’ . . . MRS. COLE!” she bellowed over her shoulder. Harry heard a distant voice shouting something in response. The girl turned back to Dumbledore. “Come in, she’s on ’er way.”

Dumbledore stepped into a hallway tiled in black and white; the whole place was shabby but spotlessly clean. Before the front door had closed behind them, a skinny, harassed-looking woman came scurrying toward them. She had a sharp-featured face that appeared more anxious than unkind, and she was talking over her shoulder to another aproned helper as she walked toward Dumbledore. “. . . and take the iodine upstairs to Martha, Billy Stubbs has been picking his scabs and Eric Whalley’s oozing all over his sheets — chicken pox on top of everything else,” she said to nobody in particular, and then her eyes fell upon Dumbledore and she stopped dead in her tracks, looking as astonished as if a giraffe had just crossed her threshold.  
“Good afternoon,” said Dumbledore, holding out his hand. Mrs. Cole simply gaped. “My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today.” Mrs. Cole blinked.

Apparently deciding that Dumbledore was not a hallucination, she said feebly, “Oh yes. Well — well then — you’d better come into my room. Yes.” She led Dumbledore into a small room that seemed part sitting room, part office. It was as shabby as the hallway and the furniture was old and mismatched.  
She invited Dumbledore to sit on a rickety chair and seated herself behind a cluttered desk, eyeing him nervously. “I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future,” said Dumbledore. “Are you family?” asked Mrs. Cole.

“No, I am a teacher,” said Dumbledore. “I have come to offer Tom a place at my school.” “What school’s this, then?” “It is called Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore. “And how come you’re interested in Tom?” “We believe he has qualities we are looking for.” “You mean he’s won a scholarship? How can he have done? He’s never been entered for one.” “Well, his name has been down for our school since birth —” “Who registered him? His parents?”

There was no doubt that Mrs. Cole was an inconveniently sharp woman. Apparently Dumbledore thought so too, for Harry now saw him slip his wand out of the pocket of his velvet suit, at the same time picking up a piece of perfectly blank paper from Mrs. Cole’s desktop.

“Here,” said Dumbledore, waving his wand once as he passed her the piece of paper, “I think this will make everything clear.” Mrs. Cole’s eyes slid out of focus and back again as she gazed intently at the blank paper for a moment. “That seems perfectly in order,” she said placidly, handing it back. Then her eyes fell upon a bottle of gin and two glasses that had certainly not been present a few seconds before.

“Er — may I offer you a glass of gin?” she said in an extra refined voice. “Thank you very much,” said Dumbledore, beaming. It soon became clear that Mrs. Cole was no novice when it came to gin drinking. Pouring both of them a generous measure, she drained her own glass in one gulp. Smacking her lips frankly, she smiled at Dumbledore for the first time, and he didn’t hesitate to press his advantage.

“I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle’s history? I think he was born here in the orphanage?”  
“That’s right,” said Mrs. Cole, helping herself to more gin. “I remember it clear as anything, because I’d just started here myself. New Year’s Eve and bitter cold, snowing, you know. Nasty night. And this girl, not much older than I was myself at the time, came staggering up the front steps. Well, she wasn’t the first. We took her in, and she had the baby within the hour. And she was dead in another hour.”

Mrs. Cole nodded impressively and took another generous gulp of gin.  
“Did she say anything before she died?” asked Dumbledore. “Anything about the boy’s father, for instance?”  
“Now, as it happens, she did,” said Mrs. Cole, who seemed to be rather enjoying herself now, with the gin in her hand and an eager audience for her story. “I remember she said to me, ‘I hope he looks like his papa,’ and I won’t lie, she was right to hope it, because she was no beauty — and then she told me he was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for her father — yes, I know, funny name, isn’t it? We wondered whether she came from a circus — and she said the boy’s surname was to be Riddle. And she died soon after that without another word. “Well, we named him just as she’d said, it seemed so important to the poor girl, but no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any family at all, so he stayed in the orphanage and he’s been here ever since.”

Mrs. Cole helped herself, almost absentmindedly, to another healthy measure of gin. Two pink spots had appeared high on her cheekbones. Then she said, “He’s a funny boy.” “Yes,” said Dumbledore. “I thought he might be.” “He was a funny baby too. He hardly ever cried, you know. And then, when he got a little older, he was . . . odd.”  
“Odd in what way?” asked Dumbledore gently. “Well, he —” But Mrs. Cole pulled up short, and there was nothing blurry or vague about the inquisitorial glance she shot Dumbledore over her gin glass. “He’s definitely got a place at your school, you say?”

“Definitely,” said Dumbledore. “And nothing I say can change that?” “Nothing,” said Dumbledore. “You’ll be taking him away, whatever?” “Whatever,” repeated Dumbledore gravely. She squinted at him as though deciding whether or not to trust him. Apparently she decided she could, because she said in a sudden rush, “He scares the other children.” “You mean he is a bully?” asked Dumbledore. “I think he must be,” said Mrs. Cole, frowning slightly, “but it’s very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents. . . . Nasty things . . .” Dumbledore did not press her, though Harry could tell that he was interested. She took yet another gulp of gin and her rosy cheeks grew rosier still. “Billy Stubbs’s rabbit . . . well, Tom said he didn’t do it and I don’t see how he could have done, but even so, it didn’t hang itself from the rafters, did it?”

“I shouldn’t think so, no,” said Dumbledore quietly.

“But I’m jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before. And then” — Mrs. Cole took another swig of gin, slopping a little over her chin this time — “on the summer outing — we take them out, you know, once a year, to the countryside or to the seaside — well, Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were never quite right afterwards, and all we ever got out of them was that they’d gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they’d just gone exploring, but something happened in there, I’m sure of it. And, well, there have been a lot of things, funny things. . . .”

She looked around at Dumbledore again, and though her cheeks were flushed, her gaze was steady. “I don’t think many people will be sorry to see the back of him.” “You understand, I’m sure, that we will not be keeping him permanently?” said Dumbledore. “He will have to return here, at the very least, every summer.”

“Oh, well, that’s better than a whack on the nose with a rusty poker,” said Mrs. Cole with a slight hiccup. She got to her feet, and Harry was impressed to see that she was quite steady, even though two-thirds of the gin was now gone. “I suppose you’d like to see him?”

“Very much,” said Dumbledore, rising too. She led him out of her office and up the stone stairs, calling out instructions and admonitions to helpers and children as she passed. The orphans, Harry saw, were all wearing the same kind of grayish tunic. They looked reasonably well-cared for, but there was no denying that this was a grim place in which to grow up.  
“Here we are,” said Mrs. Cole, as they turned off the second landing and stopped outside the first door in a long corridor. She knocked twice and entered. “Tom? You’ve got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton — sorry, Dunderbore. He’s come to tell you — well, I’ll let him do it.”

Mrs. Cole closed the door on them. It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe, a wooden chair, and an iron bedstead. A boy was sitting on top of the gray blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book. There was no trace of the Gaunts in Tom Riddle’s face. Merope had got her dying wish: He was his handsome father in miniature, tall for eleven years old, dark-haired, and pale. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Dumbledore’s eccentric appearance. There was a moment’s silence.

“How do you do, Tom?” said Dumbledore, walking forward and holding out his hand. The boy hesitated, then took it, and they shook hands. Dumbledore drew up the hard wooden chair beside Riddle, so that the pair of them looked rather like a hospital patient and visitor. “I am Professor Dumbledore.”  
“ ‘Professor’?” repeated Riddle. He looked wary. “Is that like ‘doctor’? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?” He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left. “No, no,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “I don’t believe you,” said Riddle. “She wants me looked at, doesn’t she? Tell the truth!” He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still. “Who are you?” “I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school — your new school, if you would like to come.”  
Riddle’s reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious.

“You can’t kid me! The asylum, that’s where you’re from, isn’t it? ‘Professor,’ yes, of course — well, I’m not going, see? That old cat’s the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they’ll tell you!”  
“I am not from the asylum,” said Dumbledore patiently. “I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you —”

“I’d like to see them try,” sneered Riddle. “Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Riddle’s last words, “is a school for people with special abilities —” “I’m not mad!” “I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic.” There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore’s, as though trying to catch one of them lying.

“Magic?” he repeated in a whisper. “That’s right,” said Dumbledore. “It’s . . . it’s magic, what I can do?” “What is it that you can do?”

“All sorts,” breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. “I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.” His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer. “I knew I was different,” he whispered to his own quivering fingers. “I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something.”

“Well, you were quite right,” said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching Riddle intently. “You are a wizard.” Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured: There was a wild happiness upon it, yet for some reason it did not make him better looking; on the contrary, his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial. “Are you a wizard too?” “Yes, I am.” “Prove it,” said Riddle at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when he had said, “Tell the truth.” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts —” “Of course I am!” “Then you will address me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir.’ ”

Riddle’s expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognizably polite voice, “I’m sorry, sir. I meant — please, Professor, could you show me — ?” Harry was sure that Dumbledore was going to refuse, that he would tell Riddle there would be plenty of time for practical demonstrations at Hogwarts, that they were currently in a building full of Muggles and must therefore be cautious. To his great surprise, however, Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick. The wardrobe burst into flames. Riddle jumped to his feet; Harry could hardly blame him for howling in shock and rage; all his worldly possessions must be in there. But even as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged. Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand.

“Where can I get one of them?” “All in good time,” said Dumbledore. “I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe.” And sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard from inside it. For the first time, Riddle looked frightened. “Open the door,” said Dumbledore. Riddle hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above a rail of threadbare clothes, a small cardboard box was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it. “Take it out,” said Dumbledore. Riddle took down the quaking box. He looked unnerved.

“Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?” asked Dumbledore. Riddle threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. “Yes, I suppose so, sir,” he said finally, in an expressionless voice. “Open it,” said Dumbledore.

Riddle took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them. Harry, who had expected something much more exciting, saw a mess of small, everyday objects: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished mouth organ among them. Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin blankets.  
“You will return them to their owners with your apologies,” said Dumbledore calmly, putting his wand back into his jacket. “I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts.”

Riddle did not look remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he said in a colorless voice, “Yes, sir.”

“At Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, “we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have — inadvertently, I am sure — been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic — yes, there is a Ministry — will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws.”

“Yes, sir,” said Riddle again. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking; his face remained quite blank as he put the little cache of stolen objects back into the cardboard box.  
When he had finished, he turned to Dumbledore and said baldly, “I haven’t got any money.” 

“That is easily remedied,” said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. “There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but —”

“Where do you buy spellbooks?” interrupted Riddle, who had taken the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold Galleon. “In Diagon Alley,” said Dumbledore. “I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything —”

“You’re coming with me?” asked Riddle, looking up. “Certainly, if you —”

“I don’t need you,” said Riddle. “I’m used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley — sir?” he added, catching Dumbledore’s eye. Harry thought that Dumbledore would insist upon accompanying Riddle, but once again he was surprised.  
Dumbledore handed Riddle the envelope containing his list of equipment, and after telling Riddle exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, “You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you — non-magical people, that is — will not. Ask for Tom the barman — easy enough to remember, as he shares your name —” Riddle gave an irritable twitch, as though trying to displace an irksome fly. “You dislike the name ‘Tom’?”  
“There are a lot of Toms,” muttered Riddle. Then, as though he could not suppress the question, as though it burst from him in spite of himself, he asked, “Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they’ve told me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” said Dumbledore, his voice gentle. “My mother can’t have been magic, or she wouldn’t have died,” said Riddle, more to himself than Dumbledore. “It must’ve been him. So — when I’ve got all my stuff — when do I come to this Hogwarts?” “All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope,” said Dumbledore. “You will leave from King’s Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too.”

Riddle nodded. Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again. Taking it, Riddle said, “I can speak to snakes. I found out when we’ve been to the country on trips — they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?”

Harry could tell that he had withheld mention of this strangest power until that moment, determined to impress. “It is unusual,” said Dumbledore, after a moment’s hesitation, “but not unheard of.” His tone was casual but his eyes moved curiously over Riddle’s face. They stood for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other. Then the handshake was broken; Dumbledore was at the door. “Good-bye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts.”


	2. Chapter Two

"When I first met young Mr Riddle, he was a quiet albeit brilliant boy, committed to becoming a first rate wizard. Not unlike others I've known. Not unlike yourself. If the monster existed it was buried deep within."— Horace Slughorn to Harry Potter about his first experiences with Tom Riddle

\----

Tom was at King's Cross Station, his trunk on the trolley, his pet snake locked up in his cage. He was already wearing his Hogwarts robes, his yew and phoenix wand stowed inside his cloak. Standing next to him was a tall, thin man, judging by his auburn hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

"Tom, are you ready?" asked Dumbledore softly at the boy next to him.

"Yes, I am. Now, tell me where I should go-sir." answered Tom, in a monotonous voice. "I want to get on the train as soon as I could."

"Tom, all you need to do is to pass through the barrier between 9 and 10." replied Dumbledore.

"But sir, there's a wall between 9 and 10. How do you expect me to get on the train if all I'm going to do is crash into the wall?" retorted Tom, a slight edge of fury in his voice.

"The wall is an illusion. It is all done by magic to pretend it's a wall when it actually isn't." said Dumbledore, calmly. 

"Alright, well...see you." said Tom curtly. He pushed his trolley and looked at the barrier between 9 and 10 and began running at the wall in front of him at breakneck speed. He looked determinedly at the wall. When he had finally reached the wall, he continued running and darkness surrounded him.

He popped out of the wall as soon as he came and in front of him was a great train, its chute billowing with smoke. On the side were the engraved words Hogwarts Express. Tom looked at it in awe, and pushed his trolley up to a compartment. It was empty. He heaved his trunk into the compartment and grabbed his cage and closed the door behind him and sat down.

He had sat down for a only a few minutes before his compartment door opened once again. A small brown haired boy looked at him and stuttered,"U-um, h-hello. Is this compartment open?"

Riddle contemplated for a moment. "No, I wish to be left alone. Now leave me be." replied Tom, coldly, his grey eyes staring at the small boy. The brown haired boy uttered a gasp of surprise and ran out of the apartment. Tom glanced at the compartment door for a moment, to be sure he was alone and he turned to stare at the window, watching the towns, and trees pass by.

The train soon arrived at Hogsmeade, slowing down to a stop. Tom was one of the first students to hop off the train, tugging his trunk and cage with him.

"FIRST YEARS, THIS WAY!" said a familiar voice. Tom looked where the voice came from and his eyes landed on Dumbledore. Dumbledore saw Tom looking at him. The professor looked at him and said,"Hello Tom!" Tom flinched when he heard his name.

He strode in Dumbledore's direction, joining other first years. 

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Dumbledore down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Tom thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much.

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"First years, please sit inside one of the boats! No more than four to a boat, please!" instructed Dumbledore, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Tom stepped into one of the boats but to his dismay, was joined by a 3 girls who were admiring him. 

"Everyone in?" said Dumbledore, scanning the boats with his eyes. "Let's go, then!" Dumbledore reached inside his cloak, pulling out his wand and made a ribbon-figured swish with his wand.

And the fleet of little boats moved off at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood. 

"Everyone, keep your heads low." said Dumbledore, and the first years all obeyed and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto the rocks.

Dumbledore raised his fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

The door swung open at once. A very elderly, man stepped into view. He was not tall, Tom noticed, and had a long beard and mustache. He wore rimless glasses and on top of his head was a turban.

"Hello, Headmaster, these are the new students that are going to attend Hogwarts." explained Dumbledore, and the headmaster nodded. Dumbledore entered the castle with the first years marching right behind him. 

The entrance hall was humongous. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches of various colors like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors. 

They followed Dumbledore across the flagged stone floor. Tom could hear the drones of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right-the rest of the school must already be here-but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather close to each other than they would usually have done, peering around nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," said Professor Dumbledore. "The start-of-term banquet will begin momentarily, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"There are four houses at Hogwarts. These four houses are called Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. Please wait quietly for a moment"

Dumbledore left.

"Hey, you guys know how they're gonna sort us in?" asked a boy behind him. 

"I think you fight a troll and the teachers determine which house you're in," said a girl in front of Tom.

"Really, we get to fight a troll?" whispered several excited first years.

"We don't fight trolls, we fight dragons!" 

"What the --?" He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance --" "My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost -- I say, what are you all doing here?" 92 A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered. "New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?" A few people nodded mutely. "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor Dumbledore had returned. The first years formed a single filed line. Tom went to the front of the line. Professor Dumbledore looked down at Tom and gave him a warm smile. They walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor Dumbledore led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. 

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens. Harry quickly looked down again as Professor Dumbledore silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Tom noticed that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth -- and the hat began to sing:

A thousand years or more ago  
When I was newly sewn,  
There lived four wizards of renown,  
Whose names are still well known:

Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,  
Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,  
Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,  
Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.

They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,  
They hatched a daring plan  
To educate young sorcerers  
Thus Hogwarts School began.

Now each of these four founders  
Formed their own house, for each  
Did value different virtues  
In the ones they had to teach.

By Gryffindor, the bravest were  
Prized far beyond the rest;  
For Ravenclaw, the cleverest  
Would always be the best;

For Hufflepuff, hard workers were  
Most worthy of admission;  
And power-hungry Slytherin  
Loved those of great ambition.

While still alive they did divide  
Their favourites from the throng,  
Yet how to pick the worthy ones  
When they were dead and gone?

Twas Gryffindor who found the way,  
He whipped me off his head  
The founders put some brains in me  
So I could choose instead!

Now slip me snug about your ears,  
I've never yet been wrong,  
I'll have a look inside your mind  
And tell where you belong!

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

Interesting hat, thought Tom, It seems that it has a mind of its own. 

Professor Dumbledore now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Avery, Peter!"

A boy with average height came forward. He had a handsome face and brown hair. He practically sprinted to the hat and hurriedly slammed the hat onto his head.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Black, Walburga!"

A black haired, heavy lidded girl stood forward and jammed the hat eagerly onto her head. After what seemed like a flash, the hat opened its mouth and screamed,"SLYTHERIN!"

"Black, Orion." 

A tall gangly boy stood forward slowly, puffing out his chest as if important. He walked up to the hat and, like the first girl, jammed the hat onto his head. In a blink of an eye, the hat screamed,"SLYTHERIN!"

Seems to me there are a lot of Slytherins, thought Tom, smiling to himself, Perhaps I might get into that house.

Many students had gone; Bell...Brown...Bulstrode...Crouch...Dearborn...Diggory...Patil...Rookwood...Pomfrey...when finally...

"Riddle, Tom" announced Dumbledore. Tom noticed Dumbledore's eyes starig at him. He approached the hat, avoiding Dumbledore's gaze. He reached the stool and sat down, the hat over his.

Hello, said a voice inside his head. I am the Sorting Hat.

Hello, there Mr. Sorting Hat, replied Tom telepathically back.

Oh my, you're an easy choice. Slytherin blood is inside of you. said the Hat. "SLYTHERIN!"

Tom got up, a small smile on his face as he joined the Slytherin table. The Sorting soon ended and the headmaster banged his gavel on his desk for attention. 

"Welcome. I am Headmaster Dippet for all of those who don't know me. There are a few rules I would like to go over.

"First, no dueling in the hallways. Anyone caught in the hallways will receive immediate detention. Second, the Forbidden Forest is exactly that. Forbidden. Anyone caught in the Forbidden Forest will receive expulsion. That is all. Enjoy your feast."

Food sprang in front of them. Piles of roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, and other food filled the plates. 

Tom was eating as much as he could; he couldn't believe all the food in front of him. At the orphanage, he only ate stew and minced meat with rice. 

Desserts followed suit and it too disappeared. Headmaster Dippet got to his feet and pounded his gavel. All the chattering and the chewing stopped. 

"I forgot to mention, sorry for my old age," he said, and a few students chuckled. "Quidditch finals will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. 

"And before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" laughed Dippet. 

He gave his wand a little flick and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself into words. 

"Come sing along everyone!"

And the whole school bellowed:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead Flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot

Just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains rot."

After they sang the song, everyone clapped and the Headmaster waves his head, signaling that they were dismissed. The Slytherin first years followed a prefect named Septimus through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and down 3 flights of stairss before they finally reached what appears to be the mouth of a snake. 

"Pureblood." said the prefect and the snake mouth split in two, revealing a door. Septimus opened the door, revealing the Slytherin common room. Septimus direted the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the bottom of the staircase was another snake mouth. Tom stepped through it, entering a room full of beds: Four-poster curtains with deep green curtains. Tom climbed into one of them and soon fell asleep.


	3. Chapter Two

"There is no good and evil. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it."

-Lord Voldemort.

\---

The next day, Tom woke up and went downstairs, alone, to the Great Hall. He sat at the Slytherin table which was already covered with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling. Tom sat at the end of the Slytherin table when a a middle aged brown haired man came up to him with a stack of papers. 

"Here you go, young man!" said the man, cheerfully, handing Tom his schedule. "May I ask you your name?"

Tom looked up, hesitantly, and said politely,"Tom Riddle, sir." and gave a slight wince at his name.

"Hello, Tom!" replied the man cheerfully,"I'm Professor Slughorn, the head of the Slytherin House and the Potions Professor!"

The man left, leaving Tom alone to eat.

A hand tapped Tom on the shoulder. A boy stood right behind him. He was tall and had long blonde hair, a little past his shoulders. 

"I'm Abraxas. Abraxas Malfoy. Are you going to tryout for Quidditch?" said the boy excitedly.

"I have no interest in playing games while at school." said Tom coldly, staring at Abraxas with stormy grey eyes. 

The blonde boy's smile faltered."Oh. Erm. What class do you have first?"

"Transfiguration. With that old codger."

"Who?"

"Professor Dumbledore."

Abraxas laughed. "Ah, yes. Same here. See you later!" and Abraxas was off. Tom stared at Abraxas until the latter disappeared.

Tom stood up, and got out of the Great Hall. Professor Dumbledore, he mused, What a old codger and he's one of my teachers. He sighed as he approached the classroom. 

He entered and saw he was the first arrival. Near the front of the room stood Dumbledore, his half mooned spectacles looking at Tom. 

"Good morning, Tom." said Dumbledore quietly, still smiling."Sit whereever you like." 

Tom gave Dumbledore a blank stare before sitting in the front row, closest to the teacher's desk. Soon more and more students began arriving and within five minutes all of the students had arrived and a bell rang, signalling that the class was about to start. Tom glanced around the room and noticed that there were both Slytherins and Gryffindors in the same classroom.

"Er, excuse me Professor?" asked Tom, in a polite voice. "Are Slytherins and Gryffindors supposed to be in the same class together?

"Yes, Transfiguration is going to be a shared class." replied Dumbledore, his smile slightly diminished.

Tom's face gave a slight twitch but quickly became impassive.

"Hello, class. My name is Professor Dumbledore, and I am your Transfiguration teacher for the year. This year will be very challenging for you as you will begin to develop the basic understanding of transfiguration.

"Transfiguration has many uses. You can turn random objects into whatever you'd like. Let me demonstrate for you." said Dumbledore.

Dumbledore pulled out an old piece of parchment and his wand. Everyone leaned forward and stared at him. With a wave of the wand, the old parchment turned into an eagle. 

"Now, we will start with the basics. Everyone get a rat in the front of the room." commanded Dumbledore. Everyone stood up and shuffled to the front of the room. Tom was the first to get s squeaking rat and returned to his seat. When everyone had returned to their seats, Dumbledore continued. 

"We will transfigure the rat into a bird of your choice. The spell is 'Avem Mutata'. You may begin."

Tom was the first one to complete the task. 

"Avem Mutata" said Tom, lazily waving his wand. The rat shrieked, arching its little back as if in pain , suddenly changed into a snow owl.

Dumbledore came over and looked at Tom intently before saying,"Congratulations Tom, you're the first one to complete this task. Then, change it into a different bird!"

Tom raised his wand and swished it down with a flick of his wrist and yelled,"AVEM MUTATA!" changing it into a chicken. Satisfied with himself, he leaned back into the chair and Dumbledore left him alone. His eyes wandered to other students in the class.

Abraxas, the boy he met earlier, had made feathers and a beak grow on the rat but could still see the rat tail. Another boy had almost turned his rat into a bird but could still see the rat whiskers.

Transfiguration comes so naturally to me, thought Tom, This is getting so boring.

"Tom." said a voice, breaking up Tom's thoughts. He looked up and saw a girl standing in front of his desk. 

"Hello." said Tom politely.

"Hello, I am Myrtle Warren." said the girl.

"How may I help you?" said Tom, his face impassive.

"My rat won't turn into a bird."

"Let's me guide you." and he slightly grabbed Myrtle's hand. "When I bring your hand down, just say Avem Mutata!"

He flicked her wrist down and she said,"A-avem mutata!" and a beam of blue light shot out of her wand. The rat screamed in agony as it grew long wings and a bird tail, though the other parts remained as a rat.

"No need to stutter, Myrtle," chided Tom.

"AVEM MUTITA!" she yelled, shooting a jet of purple light onto the rat. The rat's bird tail shrunk into a long slithery tail, the head elongating and growing bigger and bigger. The wings turned into long bat-like wings while the eyes turned to slits. It opened its mouth and bellowed a blast of fire.

"That's a dragon, not a bird." said Tom, chuckling. Myrtle was laughing a bit which got the attention of Dumbledore, who had a smile on his face but quickly flicked his wand and the dragon reverted back into a rat. 

"AVEM MUTATA" she shouted once again, turning the rat into a chickling. 

"Well done," said Tom, giving her a small smile. The girl looked at him, pleased, and left his desk. 

The bell rang, signalling the end of class.

"Well, this ends our first transfiguration class. The homework for tonight will be 2 scrolls of parchment explaining why transfiguration is important." said Dumbledore at the students. "You are dismissed."

Tom headed out, but was quickly joined by Abraxas.

"That was interesting lesson, wasn't it?" said Abraxas happily. 

"Interesting for about 3 seconds, tops." said Tom, quietly. 

"So, what next?" said Abraxas.

"Do we have identical schedules or something?" said Tom, annoyed.

"I think all Slytherins in their first year are identical. But I accidentally left my schedule in the Great Hall."

"We have Potions with Ravenclaw."

The two of them headed down towards one of the stairs. When they had finally climbed to the top, they turned left and the dungeon door appeared in sight.

The dungeon door opened and Slughorn’s belly preceded him out of the door. As they filed into the room, his great walrus mustache curved above his beaming mouth, and he greeted Tom and Abraxas with particular enthusiasm. The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. Tom and Abraxas sniffed interestedly as they passed large, bubbling cauldrons. The two Slytherins took a table together, as did four Ravenclaws. They chose the one nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents Tom had ever inhaled: Somehow it reminded him simultaneously of beef stew that Tom had eaten back at the orphanage and something flowery he thought he might have smelled somewhere. He found that he was breathing very slowly and deeply and that the potion’s fumes seemed to be filling him up like drink. A great contentment stole over him; he grinned across at Abraxas, who grinned back lazily.

“Now then, now then, now then,” said Slughorn, whose massive outline was quivering through the many shimmering vapors.

More students began showing up to class. Soon enough, class started.

"Hello, and welcome to potions, where you can brew concoctions of different sorts. There are all sorts of different potions you can brew," said Professor Slughorn.

"Now, in the next 2 hours I am going to be teaching you guys, I'll let you create whatever you want. You can use any ingredients in the front of the room." said Slughorn, happily."I'll let you be as creative as you want. But be warned, I'll make you drink your potion at the end of class."

With a silent look at each other, Tom and Abraxas agreed to be partnered together. Abraxas went to go get the books, and Tom went for the supplies, getting as much ingredients in his hands as much as possible. 

When they had settled down, they quickly got a fire going and a cauldron filled with water. 

"Shall we go random and test it out?" smirked Tom."Or shall we follow one of those recipes?"

Abraxas looked at Tom, before smiling."But you're the one drinking if we're gonna go random."

Abraxas got a knife out and began slicing some of the gurdyroots into fine powder while Tom used another knife to slice a bezoar into thin slices. Abraxas and Tom dumped their cut ingredients, turning the potion bright blue. 

"Ugh, it looks nasty." Tom looked around at the table behind them. The cauldron was bright green for theirs. He turned around and sliced some gillyweed and salamander tails, dumping it into the potion, changing the potion to a pitch black. 

"I think we should stir it." said Abraxas, a grin on his face. Abraxas got a spoon out and began stirring it. The potion remained pitch black, but clouds of smoke began billowing out of the potion.

Tom got up and went to the front of the class to get more ingredients. There, he got what he thought were the more exotic looking ones and went back to his table. He looked at some of the other cauldrons around him and saw that some had a green hue, some had a purple hue while most were white. 

"How are you dear students?" said Slughorn, looking at Tom and Abraxas with interest.

"Er, did you say we were going to be testing them on ourselves?" asked Abraxas.

"Yes. One of you two will be drinking the potion," said Slughorn, smiling happily and walking away.

"Let's cut up these ingredients and put them in." said Tom, already slicing a weird looking fungi. Abraxas took some dragon scales and turned it into powder.

After an hour of slicing ingredients and feverishly stirring the cauldron, Slughorn waved his wand and the fires from everyone's cauldrons died out.

"Now, now, let's test...you!" pointing at a pair of Ravenclaw girls whose cauldron was bright pink. One of them looked determinedly at the the cauldron before using a cup to scoop out some of the potion.

"Looks like some sort of love potion to me," said Slughorn cheerfully."But we'll never be able to find out unless we drink it!"

The girl swallowed the entire cup. His eyes glazed over. "Oh, Tom. I love you so much. Oh..."

Tom gave a look of disgust and Slughorn had given an antidote to remove the effects. When the professor was finished, he looked around the room and spotted Tom and Abraxas. 

"How about... you Tom and Abraxas!" he said cheerfully, looking into their cauldron. They somehow turned the liquid into a clear color.

"Did you two even make a potion?" said Slughorn, slightly disappointed.

"Yes, we did." said Tom curtly. "I suppose let's begin with the demonstration."


End file.
